Days
by Whoops There Goes My Heart
Summary: Series of short one-shots about the different nations on different days of the year.


**Author's Note: Okay, we'll see how this goes. Each of the chapters will basically be a one-shot, but they might reference each other. They're not going to be separate stories because they will all follow the same idea of being based on one day on the year, if that makes sense. Also, the characters will all be referred to by their human names.  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hetalia characters or anything (however much I wish I did)**

* * *

Alfred woke up to 5th of July fully clothed and with a splitting headache. He sat up slowly, trying not to shake his head up too much. He felt dizzy, everything seemed to spin around him, and he had to steady himself on the bed to prevent himself from toppling over. He glanced over to the window. The curtains were still shut - thank God - but fingers of light reached through and lit up a room he didn't recognise.

Wait, what?

Why didn't he recognise this room? Why wasn't he in his own room?

Instead of his bedroom, with its pokemon posters covering the walls and candy wrappers littering the floor, he sat in an enormous room furnished with dark wooden chairs and sofas with jade-coloured covers. Though being warm in temperature, something about the room seemed cold - like it had never been used before.

He stood up, confused, but had to quickly sit down again when a wave of unsteadiness swept over him.

He felt sick.

Attempting to stand again, his legs felt shaky. He'd prefer to just lie back down and go back to sleep, but he needed to get to a bathroom soon or he'd probably throw up on the green flowery carpet. Spotting a doorway to an en suite on the far side of the room, he used the furniture in is path to make his way towards it. Slowly. It was hard to focus and he was halfway across the room before he realised he wasn't wearing his glasses. _Damn._

There was a clicking at the door and Alfred realised it was the door handle being turned. There was a banging at the door and the thick wood muffled what surely must be curses. A few more seconds of increasingly loud swearing, and the door swung open like nothing had happened.

Alfred turned to see who was there, but everything was too blurry to make out who was standing in the doorway. A mess of blonde hair was about all he could make out.

"Oh." The person in the doorway said.

"Where am I?" Alfred coughed, his throat dry.

"It's okay Alfred, you're at my house." A telltale English accent revealed a certain Arthur Kirkland. It was too hard for him too see properly, but it looked to Alfred like he was wearing tartan pyjamas. "Are you okay?" Arthur sounded concerned.

Alfred tried to laugh, but it sounded to raspy and hurt his throat. "I'm always okay." He said, but his legs almost collapsed and he had to grab onto a nearby chair so as not to fall. Arthur was suddenly by his side, letting Alfred lean on him. "Arthur, I'm the hero, I don't need help."

"Yes you do."

Stifling a smile, Alfred allowed himself to be half-walked, half-carried to the bathroom. Arthur was too busy concentrating on leading their strange three-legged race to notice. He sat Alfred down next to the toilet and tutted quietly.

"I don't understand why you insist on drinking when you know that you always get terrible hangovers." Arthur commented, looking at the ceiling as Alfred began to empty the contents of his stomach. "Honestly, you're almost worse than I was when I almost died." Alfred didn't reply, he just listened as Arthur kept talking. "Remember that time when I was ill and you put a hamburger on my head? And that time I got terribly ill when you made me try that _fried butter_?" He almost spat out the last to words in disgust, getting a small chuckle from Alfred. "You think it's funny, do you? I think that it was funnier when you almost threw up at the sight of the haggis that my Scottish brother made you."

"Arthur, it was a cow's stomach." Alfred said, voice hoarse.

"I thought it was delicious." Arthur replied, softly hitting the other man across the shoulder.

"Remember that time you went home from a war with a headache because a star got stuck in your skull?"

"How could I forget?"

"Ha, I guess I wouldn't if I were you."

"Happy July 5th."

"I'm never getting drunk again."

"Of course you're not."

Alfred wiped his lips with his sleeve and looked over to where Arthur sat beside him, surprised to see him holding out a glass of water for him to drink. He took it off Arthur and tipped the water into his mouth.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Alfred downed another five glasses of water; the light-headed, dizzy feeling slowly leaving him. He still didn't feel great though, and rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Why are you here, Britain?"

Arthur smiled. He always found it slightly amusing when Alfred referred to like this. "This is my house. I live here."

"That's not what I mean." Alfred opened his eyes but didn't look at him.

"I thought you might need help, what with your hangover."

"But yesterday was my birthday, and you were there. You're always there, even though I'm the asshole of the world all day. My birthday is basically the anniversary of me kicking your ass and us not being brothers anymore."

Arthur paused before speaking again. "It doesn't matter if we're not brothers anymore, I still care about you." He said carefully. "And as you you kicking my arse, I'm not celebrating that. On the 4th of July, I don't celebrate my defeat, I celebrate your first real decision as a nation. Sure, I don't like it when you rub your supposed 'freedom' in my face, but it's your birthday and you deserve to be king for the duration of it."

"President."

"Of course. President."

Alfred hid a smile behind his hand. "Happy 5th of July, Arthur."

"Happy 5th of July, Alfred."


End file.
